The morning after the gala arrived heavy with tension.
Ivy woke before dawn, her mind replaying every look, every word from the previous night. Suitable. The word echoed like a bruise she kept pressing. She lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the estate, then rose and dressed carefully, choosing simplicity over elegance. She refused to let anyone mistake her for decoration again.
Downstairs, the house felt subdued. Staff moved efficiently but avoided lingering, as if they sensed the strain coiled beneath the polished surface.
Ivy poured herself a cup of tea and carried it to the breakfast table. She barely lifted the cup before Adrian entered.
He looked tired.
It wasn't obvious to anyone else, she suspected, but she noticed the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. He took his seat across from her without a word.
"Your mother knew," Ivy said quietly.
Adrian's hand paused mid-motion. "Knew what?"
"About your health," she replied. "About why I'm here."
He set his cup down slowly. "She knows parts of it."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
"It does," he said. "But it isn't new."
Ivy studied him. "Then why keep pretending this marriage is only about control? Your family already knows more than you're admitting."
"They know enough to exploit," Adrian said. "Not enough to interfere."
"And I'm the barrier," Ivy said.
"Yes."
The honesty was blunt, almost cruel, but she appreciated it more than half-truths.
"So what happens now?" Ivy asked. "After last night."
"Now," Adrian replied, "you'll see more of them."
Her stomach tightened. "I didn't agree to be paraded."
"You agreed to be my wife," he said evenly. "Appearances matter."
"So do consequences," Ivy shot back. "And I'm the one facing them."
Adrian's gaze hardened. "Do you think I'm unaffected by this?"
"No," she said after a pause. "I think you're used to it."
Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.
Later that day, Ivy received an unexpected visitor.
Thomas appeared at the door of the sitting room, his expression serious. "May I speak with you?"
She nodded. "Of course."
They sat near the window, sunlight filtering through the glass.
"You shouldn't have learned about Adrian's condition the way you did," Thomas said gently.
"No," Ivy agreed. "I shouldn't have learned it at all, apparently."
Thomas sighed. "He didn't intend for you to feel deceived."
"But he did deceive me," she said. "By omission."
"Yes," Thomas admitted. "Because he was afraid."
The word surprised her.
"Afraid of what?" Ivy asked.
"Of losing control," Thomas replied. "And of burdening someone else."
Ivy looked away. "I didn't ask to carry his burdens."
"No," Thomas said softly. "But you're already doing so."
She turned back to him. "How serious is it?"
Thomas hesitated. "More than Adrian would like you to believe."
Her chest tightened. "Will he—"
"I can't discuss specifics," Thomas interrupted gently. "But you should know this marriage wasn't chosen lightly."
Ivy let out a shaky breath. "That's supposed to comfort me?"
"It's supposed to prepare you," he said.
That evening, Ivy confronted Adrian again.
"You're getting worse," she said plainly.
He stiffened. "Thomas spoke to you."
"Yes."
"You had no right—"
"I have every right," she cut in. "I'm your wife. Even if you don't like what that means."
Adrian's voice dropped. "I don't want your pity."
"You don't have it," Ivy replied. "What you have is my involvement. You made sure of that."
He turned away, pacing the length of the room. "This is exactly why I didn't want you knowing."
"Because I might care?" she asked softly.
He stopped.
"That would complicate things," he said.
She stepped closer. "Things are already complicated, Adrian."
Their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them—fear, frustration, an undeniable tension neither wanted to acknowledge.
The following weeks brought change.
Adrian's schedule grew heavier, his absences longer. Ivy attended more events, learned more names, endured more whispers. She became adept at reading rooms, at smiling when necessary and withdrawing when it was safer.
But she also noticed the cracks.
Adrian sometimes lost his balance slightly when he thought no one was watching. His temper grew shorter on bad days. And once, late at night, she heard a crash from his study.
She found him on the floor.
He waved her away immediately. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding," she said.
"It's nothing."
She knelt beside him anyway, ignoring his protests. As she helped him up, her hand brushed his arm, steadying him. The contact lingered longer than either of them expected.
"Why won't you let anyone help you?" Ivy asked quietly.
"Because help always comes with strings," he replied.
She met his gaze. "So does isolation."
Something shifted then. Not resolved—but acknowledged.
The next call from Ivy's family came days later.
This time, it was her uncle.
"We need to renegotiate," he said without preamble.
Ivy's grip tightened on the phone. "Renegotiate what?"
"The arrangement," he said. "Your husband's family is powerful. There may be additional opportunities."
She laughed, sharp and humorless. "You already sold me. There's nothing left to negotiate."
"You're being dramatic," he snapped. "You're living comfortably—"
"Don't call this comfort," Ivy said. "You made your choice. Live with it."
She hung up before he could respond.
That night, she found Adrian in the library, his expression dark.
"They contacted you," he said.
"Yes."
"They won't stop," he added.
"I know," Ivy said. "But neither will I."
He studied her. "You're changing."
"So are you," she replied.
An unexpected smile tugged at his lips—brief, fleeting, but real.
Then everything shifted.
Adrian collapsed during a meeting.
Ivy wasn't there when it happened, but she arrived moments later to chaos—staff rushing, voices raised, Thomas issuing instructions.
"Move," Ivy said sharply, pushing past them.
She reached Adrian's side just as he regained consciousness, his face pale.
"Don't," he murmured when he saw her. "Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" she demanded.
"Like you're afraid."
"I am," she admitted.
The room fell silent.
Thomas turned to her. "We need consent for treatment."
She swallowed. "From who?"
"From you," he said.
The weight of it pressed down on her chest. This was it. The clause in the contract she hadn't understood.
She looked at Adrian. "Tell me what you want."
His eyes searched hers, something raw and vulnerable breaking through. "Trust me," he whispered.
She nodded. "I do."
The decision was made.
Later, as Adrian rested under observation, Ivy sat alone in the waiting room, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She realized then how deeply she was entangled—not by law, but by choice.
When Adrian finally woke fully, he found her there.
"You stayed," he said softly.
"Yes," Ivy replied.
"Why?"
She hesitated. "Because I wanted to."
The truth settled between them, fragile but undeniable.
Outside the room, unseen forces continued to move—families plotting, contracts tightening, consequences looming.
But inside, something had changed.
This marriage was no longer just a shield.
It was becoming a fault line.
And sooner or later, everything built on it would have to break—or be rebuilt from the ground up.